


Heroes Are Only Heroes (If They Don't Make It)

by Somekindofcontraption



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/M, Mentioned Alistair/Mahariel, Mentioned Karl/Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5438324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somekindofcontraption/pseuds/Somekindofcontraption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In another life, Marian never even thought of picking up her dagger." </p><p>Hawke is dying in the Fade. Anders comes when she needs him most.</p><p>Written for the Dragon Age Reverse BB 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

This was why people weren't meant to walk physically in the Fade. 

Was it her blood or the nightmare demon’s in her mouth, on her clothes? The mud clinging to her boots, water seeping into the cracks in her armor - everything felt so close, so vivid. 

_Not a dream_ , she thought. _Not this time_. 

Coughing wetly into the dirt, Marian Hawke rolled onto her back. A slow burn spread from the gushing wound in her lower abdomen. She pressed her hands to her side to stem the flow of blood. 

“Well, Marian, it’s been a good run. Kill the nightmare demon against all odds, bleed to death in the Fade. Go figure,” Hawke said aloud to no one in particular. Her voice sounded odd, muffled, as if she were talking into a glass bottle. As if sensing her discomfort, a drop of sweat chose that exact moment to make it's way down, carrying dirt and blood down the side of her face and into her eye.

Wiping it made it worse.

“Does it hurt much, love?”  The voice startled her, and reflex had Hawke groping wildly for the splintered staff pieces lying on the ground next to her. Silly, really, as if she’d even have the energy to defend herself if she _could_ reach it... as if it would be any use to her in its current state anyway.

Giving up, Hawke returned to her previous task of trying not to bleed to death. Squinting in the general direction of the voice, she saw a figure crouched next to the broken remains of the nightmare demon, prodding it as if expecting it to come back to life. 

The adrenaline was beginning to thin, she could feel it creeping in on her. The pain was her only explanation for what she saw; blonde hair shone in the green ambient light, and she wondered if it was possible to dream if you were already in the Fade.

Standing before her, looking cleaner and healthier than the day they first met, was Anders. 

For once in her life, Marian Hawke was speechless.

 

* * *

The man in the clinic was not what Hawke was expecting.

This supposed Grey Warden seemed too scrawny to fight anything, let alone darkspawn. The thick layer of dirt that seemed to coat every bit of Lowtown had found its way to his coat, which was rather plain save for an incredibly ostentatious feather arrangement on his shoulders. The only part of him that looked remotely well-kept was his hair, yellow like straw, pulled back into a loose ponytail at the back of his head.

As he finished working on his patient he stumbled back to lean against the wall, clearly too exhausted to stand. Hawke was just about to introduce herself when the man started towards her, shouting angrily.

“I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation - why do you threaten it?”

“Calm down, calm down. I’m just here to talk - pinky promise!” Hawke held her hands up in surrender. “We’re just here to ask a man some questions - a Grey Warden, to be specific. Would that be you?”

The Warden made no move to lower his staff. Clearly, she should have thought of better opening line.

“If you’ve come to take me back to Weisshaupt, you’re wasting your time. I’m not going back there while I still draw breath. Those bastards made me give up my cat.” 

“You had a cat?” Hawke grinned. The man, probably deciding that she was far too ridiculous to be a Warden, lowered his weapon. She followed suit. 

“Yes! He was a gift from a very dear friend of mine. Ser Pounce-A-Lot was his name, and he _hated_ the Deep Roads. Almost got ripped in half by a Genlock once - swatted the bugger on the nose.” Anders let out a haughty huff of breath, as if still insulted that Genlock might even think of going after his precious feline companion. “I gave him to a friend in Amaranthine after the Wardens said he ‘made me too soft’.”

“You’re unbelievable! ” Marian said, not unkindly. “Anyway, I thought that the Wardens recruited for life. What are you doing here?”

“That’s… only partly true. The ‘hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn and plagued by nightmares about the archdemon’ parts don’t go away. But it turns out if you hide well you don’t have to wear the uniform or go to the parties!”

“You came to Kirkwall to escape the Wardens? Seems like a long way to go.”

“You say that like it’s a small thing!” The man shook his head in disbelief. “Yes, I’m here because there’s no outpost, no darkspawn, and a whole host of refugees to blend in with… plus, some reasons of my own.”

Hawke looked at him, weighing him up. This was not a stupid man, nor did he seem a particularly cruel one; having been to the deep roads, he would know what was in store for them. Surely he would know that any additional information he could provide could be crucial to their safety, and would therefore be willing to help. 

“I’m here because I’m going on an expedition to the Deep Roads. I’m told you may have some maps that will help save a lot of lives. Think you can help?”

“You can’t imagine what I’ve come through to get here. I have no interest in…” The warden trailed off. Clearly _he_ was weighing _her_ up too, which meant that he wanted something. “On second thought… how about this, a favor for a favor. You help me, and I’ll help you. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

“Let’s be more specific. I don’t do anything involving children or animals.”

“No, I have a Warden map of the depths in this area. You can have it - for a price.” The man began to pace. “I came to Kirkwall to aide a friend. A mage, a prisoner to the wretched Kirkwall gallows. The templars learned of my plans to free him, and he’s under heavy guard-”

“Say no more! I would help any mage in such circumstance,” Hawke cut him off, winking cheekily. “My name is Marian Hawke. Just tell me what to do.”

“I’m Anders. Help me bring him safely past them, and you shall have your maps.”


	2. Part II

The figure that she couldn’t bring herself to call ‘Anders’ must have taken her stunned silence as an invitation to come closer. The figure moved noiselessly, picking its way easily across the jagged terrain of the Fade. Leave it to the demons to take one last chance to rub salt in the proverbial wound.  Then again, given the number of wounds she had sustained and the cruelty of the Fade, it could be  _literal_  salt in her  _literal_ wounds.

Hawke wasn't sure which would be worse.

The old blue and brown jacket that her lover had worn was cleaner than she had ever seen it; the figure tapped the staff against the ground idly as it walked in a tic very reminiscent of the real Anders. How was it that he managed to look so bright when the world around him blurred and bled together? 

“I wish I could help you, love. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I was… detained.” Where her own voice seemed muffled, his was so, so clear. “It’s too late to fix things, this time.” 

 A mess of tangled, well-buried emotions chose to resurface as he crouched next to her. This close she could see his eyes, a brilliant and unnatural gold. 

“You’re looking pretty spry for a dead man, Anders,” Hawke quipped. A pathetic attempt at humor - her laugh turned into a cough as blood gurgled up in her throat, choking her. Anders grabbed her chin and forced her head to the side so that the blood could dribble out of the corner of her mouth. Desperate to escape those warm, familiar fingers, Hawke thrashed her head from side to side. 

“ _Don’t touch me!”_ Hawke said through gritted teeth. “If your plan is to trick me, I’m afraid I’m not that far gone yet. So, why not just tell me what you _really_ are.” 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Not-Anders replied simply, as if he’d just told her that the sky is blue, as if she hadn’t buried him just a few years before. The figure carefully wiped the blood from her mouth. The curve of his crooked smile, the way he looked at her - it was a damned good imitation. Too good. 

_All that is missing,_ she thought, _is my knife in his back._

“Okay, _Anders,_ I’ll play this game. Not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.” Hawke sighed. “So _Anders_ , what brings you to this part of the Fade? Just going for a stroll, I suppose?” 

“I heard you calling out. Not aloud, of course, but even outside of this part of the Fade I could hear your voice. I knew I had to come.” The spirit, smiling sadly, brushed back a strand of hair from Hawke’s forehead. She gracefully managed, through sheer force of will, not to flinch. “I couldn’t very well let you die alone.” 

“How very like you.” Hawke was suddenly very tired. Too tired for malice, even. How was she going to die in peace if she spent her last hours of life arguing with someone who wasn’t really there?

 

* * *

 

When Marian found Karl, she regretted ever agreeing to help Anders that night.

The way Anders looked at Karl when they found him, Hawke knew right away that he loved the man. Death would have been kinder for them both; she looked on with pity as Anders realized what the Templars has done to his friend.

This was why the Circle could never be a safe place for mages.

“You’ll understand, Anders,” Karl said hollowly. “As soon as the templars teach you to control yourself.”

Everything after that was a blur. Templars came from nowhere, closing in on them. Howling with rage, cracks of blue cut across Anders’ skin, his eyes glowing and angry as he got to his feet, blue flames erupting around him. 

“You’ll never take another mage as you took him!” 

The healer tore through templars like tissue paper, cutting them down twice as fast as Hawke, even with Aveline, Varric, and Carver by her side. When every templar attacker lay dead on the floor they stood in a daze looking over the bodies. A weak voice from behind finally startled them from their stupor.

“I… Anders, what did you do? It’s like… you brought a piece of the Fade into this world.” Karl spoke as if in awe, as every trace of tranquility vanished save for the sun insignia branded on his forehead. “I had already forgotten what that feels like.” 

Before Anders could speak, Hawke cut in. “That’s a good question, Anders. What _did_ you do? Not the Fade part - the angry, glowing bit.” 

“It’s like a gateway to the Fade inside you. Glowing like a beacon,” Karl said.

“I have some unique circumstances, yes.” Anders stepped forward to take Karl’s hands in his own. “What happened, Karl? How did they get you?”

Hawke took note of the fact that Anders had very skillfully evaded her question - they’d return to that later. She wouldn’t deprive the man of whatever closure he could gain from this moment.

“The templars here are far more vigilant than in Kirkwall. They found a letter I was writing you…” Karl trailed off. He looked so fragile, his skin pale like milk and grotesque by the flickering light of the Chantry candles. He sounded as if his resolve to remain was fading. “You cannot imagine it, Anders. All the color, all the music in the world, gone. I would gladly give up my magic, but this? I’ll never be whole again.”

Hawke knew what she would want in Karl’s position, knew his request before he even made it. 

“Karl…” Anders shook his head - clearly, he knew it, too.

“Maybe we can find a cure,” Hawke said softly, stepping towards them. Whatever Anders had done, there was no real cure for tranquility. She knew it was hopeless, and yet it seemed a disservice not to suggest that they try. “If you were able to bring him back this far…”

“Can you cure a beheading?” Anders bit back at her. “The dreams of tranquil mages are severed - there is nothing left of them to fix.”

“Please, Anders. Kill me before I forget again. I don’t know how you brought it back, but it’s fading. I would rather die a mage than live as a templar puppet,” Karl pleaded.

Hawke put a hand on Anders’ shoulder. Their eyes met, amber to blue, and she could feel a shudder wrack his body. “You can’t leave him like this, Anders. He needs you. If you really love him, you’ll give him peace.”

“I’m so sorry, love. So sorry.” Anders stepped away from her, hand grasping for a small knife hidden in the belt of his coat. “I was too late.”

“Now! It’s fading, I-“ Karl pleaded. All of the emotion seeped from his voice like water through cupped hands. “Why do you look at me like that?” 

The knife plunged soundlessly into Karl’s ribs. Anders laid him down gently on the floor of the Chantry with a kiss to the forehead, as if laying a child down to sleep. Blood crept from the wound, dripping down, staining the stone floor.

Without a word or a second look, Anders left the Chantry in silence. 


	3. Part III

Without realizing, Marian must have drifted off. 

When she awoke she found her still bleeding side packed with makeshift bandages and Anders sitting on the ground beside her, holding her hand. For a long time there was only silence between them - the gentle flutter of their breaths, the eery quiet of the Fade landscape. 

Returning to an earlier thought, she realized that she couldn't see Anders' back. Would she find her knife there, if she could?

After some time with her own thoughts, she heard herself speak.

“For what it’s worth, I regretted killing you,” Hawke spoke slowly, facing the spirit who looked like Anders. “As soon as the knife went in, I knew I had made the wrong choice.”

Anders looked at her strangely for a moment before he spoke. 

“I know, my love. I know.” 

“No, you don’t know. You didn’t have to live with it. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have made the selfish choice and left with you.”

“All those people, Hawke… I knew I’d have to pay for what I did with my life. I’m only glad it was you who did it. Someone who loved me”

“As _someone who loved you_ I should have made the selfish choice. We could have left Kirkwall forever, lived on the run together - we _deserved_ that.” Hawke couldn’t bear the tremor in her own voice, the tears stinging her eyes. “ _I_ deserved that.”  

“Let’s not speak of it now.”

“What else shall we talk about, then? Shall we reminisce about all the good times?” This was easier, so much easier, than regret. Sadness. Longing. Anger, biting humor… she could do that. On a roll, she wrenched her hand from his, her voice rising in steady crescendo until she was shouting at him. “ Hey Anders, remember that time that you used my love for you to _make me an accomplice to mass murder_? Remember that time I _killed you_ for it?”

Here she was, in her dying moments, arguing with a spirit masquerading as her dead lover over things that don’t even matter. The world around her began to blur, to spin. Is this what happens when you die? Every mistake comes back to haunt you? 

At the edge of her awareness a familiar voice shouted her name before everything went black.

 

* * *

 

“That wasn’t normal magic you did in the Chantry.”

Hawke waited several days before visiting Anders in his clinic. While Varric had offered to come along, she ultimately opted to go alone. Carver wasn't exactly the best welcoming party, either. Better to speak freely with the man, apostate to apostate, without her friends and their well-intentioned but poorly planned remarks scaring him off.  Hawke wasn’t even sure what to expect when she got there - this Grey Warden was not the easiest person to read, and she couldn't help but want to pry a little.

 

Mostly, though, she was interested in the little “trick” he pulled just before he ran off.

“This is… hard to explain.” The healer was hunched over examining a mass of jumbled papers scattered across a small, rickety desk in the corner of the clinic. Hawke moved to lean companionably against the wall in front of him, where she could see his face.  

“When I was in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice who was trapped outside of the Fade. We became friends, and he recognized the injustice that mages in Thedas faced.”

“This spirit sounds like a useful friend to have,” Hawke said. “How is that possible?”

“He was far better to me than I have been to him. To live outside the Fade, he needed a host. At the time he inhabited the body of a dead man, a Grey Warden by the name of Kristoff who had perished fighting a sentient darkspawn.” Anders looked up at her with tired eyes, hardships etched across his face. “They came together under some unlikely circumstances, but the body was rotting away and he needed a new host or he would have been returned to the Fade.”

“I can see this is difficult for you.”

“We were going to work together, you see. To bring justice to every child ever ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle. I guess I had too much anger, and once he was inside me, he… changed.” Anders hung his head in shame, fingers massaging his temples. “I thought I was helping my friend. He would have died… if that even means anything to a spirit. Justice couldn’t overcome my hatred, and for that he paid the price. Now when I am angry he comes out not as my friend Justice, but as Vengeance, and with no concept of mercy. ”

“That explains your sexy, tortured look.” The ill-timed pickup line had the desired effect. Anders let out a choked laugh, although in truth he looked more confused than charmed.

“The maps are yours. As am I, if you’ll have me for your expedition. I’ve heard it’s useful, bringing a Grey Warden in the Deep Roads,” Anders said. Raising both eyebrows he added, “Perhaps I should check a looking glass more often. I had not thought to find a woman who would look past what I just told you.”

“Oh, but I did have a good feeling about you when I came here!” With a wild grin, Hawke playfully planted a kiss on his cheek before scurrying off into the alleys of Darktown, leaving a shocked and speechless Anders in her wake.


	4. Part IV

Hawke awoke dizzy and nauseated but still very much alive.

When the spinning stopped, she tried to sit up, only to have a firm hand on her shoulder stop her. A ruffle of ridiculous feathers edged into her line of sight, and she knew it had been too much to hope that the spirit (demon?) would leave and just let her die alone.

“You’re persistent, aren’t you?” Hawke squirmed, trying desperately to get the spirit to stop touching her. This was getting a little _too_ real for her liking. “Could you at least be someone else? Why Anders, of all people?”

“I can’t be anyone but who I am, Hawke,” Anders replied in turn, examining the bandages that were now soaked almost through. Hawke snorted and leaned back to look at the swirling, ever-changing sky.  The craggy landscape twisted and turned, with up and down being fairly relative. Somewhere above her a desk floated by, while the dark city loomed in the distance as it always did. 

“Well, do you grant dying requests? Perhaps when you’re done pretending to me my dead lover, you could bring around other people I killed. My father, my mother… my sister, maybe?” Bile and blood bubbled up in her throat, burning her esophagus, and Hawke’s derisive laugh turned into halting gasps. “Hell, at this point I’d just take a swift knife. It’s the _least_ you could do for me.”

The stony look on the spirit’s face was so convincing, Hawke wondered for a moment if it really _was_ Anders looming over her. Perhaps it was her destiny to lie there for all eternity, bleeding and in pain, while this false Anders tried to save her, or until the Maker returned to the world to save them both - if the Maker even existed at all. 

Perhaps they were both being punished, each thinking the other was a fade spirit or demon while all along they were exactly what they seemed to be.

Hawke’s gaze turned to Anders, who looked as though he battled something fierce slipping through the cracks in his resolve, burning behind his eyes, etched into the lines on his face. Hawke felt as though she had seen that look before, but the tremble in his voice when he spoke was something entirely foreign to her. Fear, sadness, and something very much like anger. 

“I’d thank you not to ask me that again.”

 

* * *

 

There was a time when Hawke was happy.

Surely sometime, between all of the fights and the shouting and the work, the two of them _must_ have been happy. On the day that Anders sent for her to meet him at the clinic, Hawke thought of the first time they made love. The warm heat of Anders body pressed against her own, pressing desperately into her as if to consume her.  As they lay there, content and sleepy, Hawke had handed him the key to her cellar - a promise that she would do whatever it took to keep him safe.  A promise she couldn’t keep, in the end.

Yes, Hawke had been so very happy. Or at least, something close to it.

“There’s something I want to try, something important. I thought you might want to be a part of it.” Anders’ gaze was steady, eyes fixed on hers, but she found it strange that he made no move to touch her. Even when he was angry, he was forever the most tactile man she had met, always reaching out for her. “We’ve both been wrong, Hawke. What happened with Justice… it wasn’t right. I should never have agreed to it.”

“You’re more in control of him than you ever were, Anders. I’ve seen it.” Hawke brushed a hand down his arm, a tender gesture that was met with no response.

“I can’t help mages like this. I am everything that they fear, that the templars fear about magic. I need to be free of this curse.”

Hawke should have felt relief that Anders had come to such a conclusion. In truth, Justice’s control over her lover made her uneasy at the best of times. Instead, she felt fear, a seed of doubt rooting itself into the back of her brain, i nstinct telling her that this was all wrong.

Anders was lying.

“Tell me what to do,” Hawke was pleading, not for an answer but for the truth. “Tell me what you need.”

“You are so patient with me, Hawke. Every day I marvel at how lucky I am to have had you by my side these past three years…” His gaze shifted past her, through her, as if she wasn’t there at all, as if he were talking to someone else. “I have been researching methods of reversing possession. Methods taken from Tevinter. They are the only ones to ever try to reverse the process without resorting to tranquility. I think I can separate Justice and me, without hurting either. There is a formula…”

Hawke listened as Anders began excitedly listing the ingredients - sela patrae, drakestone - and her heart crumbled in her chest. With a heavy heart she agreed to find the ingredients that even an unskilled mage knew by name and for their usage. Later, she approached Elthina without question, keeping her occupied while Anders finished what he needed to do.

Hawke had to trust that if there was anything of Anders left that loved her, he would do the right thing and tell the truth before there was nothing left of the man for her to save.


	5. Part V

Time was so, so strange in the Fade.

What should have been minutes to Hawke’s passing was beginning to drift into hours. The wound in her side bled ceaselessly, and yet she still remained, stretched thin by the pain and sick from blood loss that should have rightfully killed her.

The pain was a constant, always at the peripheral of her being. The spirit beside her was a comfort she could no longer bring herself to resist, and so she lay on the cold ground with Anders’ hands clasped protectively around her own. 

“You should see what you’ve done, Anders.” Hawke’s voice was hoarse, her throat struggling to form the sounds. “The circles rebelled, all of Thedas and Orlais are at war. Mages, templars… it’s horrible, but I can help but be glad for it, too.” 

“Why is that, love?”

“When war first broke out, I was on the run to find some information on red lyrium. While I was looking for a place to hide I came on a small village nestled in the woods. It was secluded, perfect for my needs, as it was unlikely that the war would reach the people there for some time. As I approached the nearest house to ask for refuge, do you know what I saw?” 

“What did you see?”

“I saw mages setting up tents, healing wounded and sick villagers. I saw the tranquil they had evacuated from the circle when the towers fell. They didn’t want to fight, but they weren’t afraid to help those that needed it, weren’t afraid to be caught doing magic if it meant helping those people caught in the crossfire.” Marian’s eyes were glassy, and a choked sob escaped her lips. “I saw free mages, Anders. Really and truly free. For all the horrible things that were happening around us, all I could think was that- was that-”

“Was that ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like you will love someone like me, and there would be no templars to tear them apart.” Anders murmured.

“Yeah.” Hawke said, blinking away tears. “Yeah.”

* * *

 

The Chantry fire was unlike anything Hawke had ever seen.

The twisted shell of a building, the rain of ash and soot, the smell of burning flesh. All around them screams and cries echoed through the worn out husk of Kirkwall’s center as those who had taken refuge from the demons and templars alike burned alive in the big stone building.

That horrible moment when her lover’s hidden plan came to fruition. Every iota of Hawke’s being wished that she had stopped him early on, that she hadn’t played along in a last ditch effort to reclaim her lover from Vengeance’s crusade. Something told her it wouldn't have mattered, that he was too far gone.  Behind her, Sebastian screamed for retribution, while Meredith rallied her templars to the gallows where she would no doubt begin eradicating each and every one of Kirkwall’s mages. 

So many thoughts crossed her mind in the moment, so many things she could have done,  _should_ have done. So many little mistakes, so many missed opportunities and more; every moment spent with Anders, every touch, minutiae that made them who they were. Everything she stood to lose, every mistake she might validate if she did nothing after what her lover had done.

In another life, Marian walked away, left Kirkwall to burn to the ground, left the mages to fend for themselves, left Meredith for someone else to fight. 

In another life, Marian and Anders fought for the city he’d destroyed and left as apostates, forever on the run, living with the consequences of the spirit Justice’s actions.

In another life, Marian never even thought of picking up her dagger.

“I might have understood if you’d only told me,” Hawke shouted at the back of Anders’ head. The man sat looking despondent, propped up on a wooden crate, shoulders slumped in apparent defeat. 

“I did what had to be done, Marian. If I pay for that with my life, so be it. I only hope that…” Anders choked on his words, tremors wracking his slight frame. “…that ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like you will love someone like me, and there would be no templars to tear them apart.

Hakwe unsheathed the dagger, the wreckage reflected in the blade.

_What about me?_ She never asked. _What about us?_

There was no time to be selfish now, not when there was still more for her to give. Kirkwall had a way of swallowing you up, destroying everything you hold dear. The knife fit between ribs with fluid ease. Another victim in the seemingly endless war between templars and mages. 

Hawke was reminded of a moment, back when they first met, when Karl Thekla met this same fate, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was ever avoidable, or if mages would always have to die.

When would it end?

Hawke go of the hilt of her blade as she lurched forward, cradling Anders through convulsions as the last of his life left his body. Anders - Grey Warden, mage, healer, lover, friend, murderer - died in Hawke’s arms with her lips pressed to his temple and her hands grasping his worn, blood-stained jacket

Hawke would return to his body later and lay it to rest at the base of the Sundermount in a grave marked only by a small cairn. She would leave Kirkwall after that, disappear into the ether, so that no one save Varric really knew where to find her. Her friends, too, scattered to the winds where they would lead their own separate lives, though they did not forget each other.

Kirkwall had had enough of their blood.


	6. Part VI

When Hawke first met Warden Alistair he had been passing through Kirkwall on his way elsewhere, apparently unable to stop and aide Kirkwall as it was pummeled by a Qunari invasion. The man said something about how the Wardens ‘couldn’t get involved’, how they had something important to attend to at Weisshaupt, and Hawke couldn’t help but be angry with him for ignoring the city as it all but burned to the ground.

After the Chantry, Hawke had been on the run for months from templars and mages alike. Kirkwall was far behind her, her lover dead and buried on the city outskirts, her friends scattered to the winds. With little to keep her going, she dedicated all of her time and energy looking into the red lyrium that began appearing with increasing frequency. As it popped up all over Thedas, it became her sole obsession to root out the cause of it.

The several months spent sabotaging traffickers had their appeal, but more research became necessary to explore the matter further. While Hawke still resented Warden Alistair’s apathetic response in Kirkwall, any friend to the Hero of Ferelden was a trustworthy ally indeed, and whispers of corruption in the Warden ranks had Hawke itching to have a Warden on her side that she could count on.

The second time the two met left a much better impression. They worked tirelessly researching, until Alistair was forced to leave the Wardens and flee into hiding when he suspected that high-ranking Wardens were somehow involved in something sinister. Meanwhile, Corypheus had somehow resurfaced, making everything infinitely more complicated.

Faced with a seemingly insurmountable obstacle, Hawke reached out to the best person she knew for making the impossible happen - Varric Tethras - who was now party to one infamous Inquisition.

With some convincing, Varric invited her to speak with Ellana Lavellan, and it was then that Hawke’s quest for answers led her to Skyhold.

* * *

 

Inquisitor Lavellan was a marvel - full of righteous anger, and yet compassionate, level-headed. Leaning against the stone wall, looking over the massive expanse of Skyhold, Hawke felt for the first time that she had finally tossed her coins in with the winning side. 

Part of her hoped she lived to see their victory. Part of her was sure she wouldn't.

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. You already dropped half a mountain on the bastard.” Hawke idly flicked a rock off the edge of the railing, grinning. “Even I can’t top that.” 

Lavellan’s smile was genuine, easy, and there was something about her the Marian instantly liked. “Oh, I don’t know. You did save Kirkwall from being leveled by a horde of rampaging Qunari.”

“Well, unless Corypheus has a horde of Qunari I don’t know about, I’m not sure that applies!”

Later, Hawke settled in by the fire in a private room Lavellan had granted her. Varric, ever the faithful friend, sat next to her in companionable silence for some time before finally speaking.

“I wish Blondie could all this, everything he started,” Varric said. His eyes flicked up to meet her own, as if he were wary of having brought it up. “Don't get me wrong, Hawke. I trust you, I trust your judgement. I know why you did it, I just…” Hawke nodded silently, watching the flames eat away at the dark logs in the hearth. 

“When Kirkwall calls for blood, someone has to pay. Someone always has to pay, Varric. You know that.” 

“Yeah, I do. But I don’t see why _you_ were the one to pay that price, why _Blondie_ had to pay that price.” Varric sighed. “I don’t see why you’re still paying. I know you want to help, but don’t you think you’ve done enough for these people, Hawke?” 

“I’ve got to do this, Varric. Corypheus is my responsibility, and I won’t leave my mess for someone else to deal with.”

“We all saw him die, Hawke. I know you think it's your mess, but it's not. How could you have known what he was?” 

Hawke didn’t answer, the weight of responsibility seemingly pressing in on them from all sides. Varric knew it was useless, just as Hawke knew he would try. In the end, one of them still thought she might live through all this, and it certainly wasn't Varric. It was only a matter of time before Hawke gave everything she had left. Something Varric said to her once still stuck with her- 

Heroes are only heroes if they don’t make it.


	7. Part VII

Before Lavellan had a chance to say anything, Hawke knew what had to be done.

The three of them stood just a stone’s throw from their escape, the abysmal nightmare realm seeming to rear up behind them as the demon rippled upwards in front, all legs and teeth and eyes trapping them helplessly in between. Lavellan looked at them with wild eyes, unwilling to say what had to be said.

Someone was going to have to stay as a distraction.

The Inquisitor would never say it, Hawke knew that. Lavellan was too important to die.

“Go!” Hawke heard herself shouting. “Go, get out of here, I’ll cover you!”

Alistair’s gaze was fixed on the demon. “No, you were right,” He said without looking at her. “The Wardens caused this mess… a Warden must -“ 

Marian grabbed his arm. “A Warden must help them rebuild. _That’s_ your job. You have too much at stake, here.” _Think of Mahariel, waiting for you._ The thought never made it to her mouth, but he'd know what she meant, he would think of Mahariel awaiting his return. 

They had save Thedas from the Blight, they deserved the chance to live free from it... and Hawke had no lover to mourn her. “Corypheus is mine.” 

Lavellan looked between them both before meeting her gaze, clearly accepting what had to be done. The Inquisitor reached for Hawke’s hand, grasped it tightly. Her hands looked so small, but somehow this incredible Dalish elf would surely save them all. This was a worthy cause - a good way to die. 

Better than she deserved, maybe, but good all the same.

“Say goodbye to Varric for me,” Hawke whispered, and she was off running, hacking at limb and flesh, black-red blood pouring out, every spell she knew blasting straight into the soft underbelly of the nightmare demon. 

There was a moment straight out of a cliché where all of time seemed to slow around her. She was screaming out in primal, guttural yells. The demon screamed too, legs slamming into the ground, cracking open the earth beneath them.

In that suspended moment Hawke looked back at the gateway to see the trim of Ellana’s jacket disappearing through the portal. It brought a sense of peace to her that she hadn’t felt in a long time, and with a mad grin Hawke ran, determined to draw her last breath fighting.

One of the demon’s large legs plunged at her, missing her narrowly as she tucked into a sloppy roll. Too far - another leg came up and punctured her side, blood gushing hot down her torso, her legs. 

There was nowhere to run, the demon seemed to stretch on for ages, or else it was a trick of the Fade. The next swipe of a leg cracked her staff clean in half, but not before she used it to cut a huge slice through the demon with a well-placed bolt of white lightning.

The answering scream told her the wound was a significant one.

This was it -Hawke’s last ditch effort, her last insane plan, and she felt thankful that she hadn’t dragged anyone along with her this time. As the next leg made a swipe at her she rolled, flattening herself, and putting both hands on the ground she summoned a wild tempest.

All of her power drained from her as the lightning crackled through the air,. The electricity ripped out of her body, tore through the skin of her hands and arms, and Hawke thought for sure her hair was burning in the onslaught of pure, raw power.

The nightmare let out a horrible shriek, its eyes opening and closing as its great body writhed and rippled. Hawke scrambled at the ground, slipping in its blood as she narrowly managed to get clear of the nightmare before it could crush her beneath its enormous, swollen body.

The great demon crashed to the ground and moved no more. Hawke lay on her back panting, and struck by the incredible fact that she was alive and the miserable fact that she was likely trapped, she did the only thing she could do - she laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

The thought occurred to Hawke that she really did have impossible luck. But as her laughter faded, she began to take stock of her extensive injuries. Deep gashes, broken fingers. The burns on her arms had begun to blacken.

When her fingers found the wound in her side, Hawke knew the nightmare would kill her after all.


	8. Part VIII

Something was changing. 

The world around Hawke came in and out of sight in painful flashes. Colors, light, sensation, emotion - everything was jumbled, as if her brain, her body, was not longer able to make sense of all of the sensory messages.

Above her, Anders shouted her name, but that was impossible - a vision flashed in her head of Anders, a dagger glinting from where it had slipped so easily between his ribs. 

What was real?

Anders, her Anders, hauled her up into her lap, cradling her close. Hawke heard gasps, choking sobs, desperate rattling coughs, but she wasn’t sure what was coming from him or from her own mouth. 

Looking up into Anders’ golden eyes she saw a tear slip down his cheek. Delirious, Hawke wiped it away with a loving smile just as a small, slim dagger stopped the convulsions forever, slipping easily between the ribs in her back. 

All that remained in the nightmare’s realm was Anders cradling the shivering form of Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, who deserved nothing less than the right to die in peace. The bloodstained wound Marian had left behind with her dagger glistened in the ethereal green glowing light of the raw Fade around them; a matching wound ensured that she too would be free from her suffering.

Hawke’s hand, still wet with his tears, fell limp at her side, never moving again. 

**Author's Note:**

> See the artwork that inspired this piece [HERE!](http://strawberripaopujuice.deviantart.com/art/Catharsis-578248893?ga_submit_new=10%253A1450228666)  
> See the other piece inspired by this artwork [HERE!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5330807)


End file.
